A Wolf In A Game
by thewolfwithwings
Summary: Sansa Stark has fled to Castle Black with Brienne, Podrick and Theon Greyjoy. After being reunited with Jon Snow she dares to believe that she is free of Ramsay. But House Bolton does not let it's prisoners escape so easily. Ramsay sends 4 of his best men to the Wall to bring him his wife back.
1. Chapter 1: The Fire

It was the third night Sansa Stark and Jon Snow sat by a fireplace drinking the terrible ale of the Wall. They'd exchanged countless memories of their days in Winterfell; how Sansa, Robb and Bran would have snowball battles against Theon, Jon and Arya. They laughed at how their tiny Rickon would stumble through the snow and try to join in. Though the past was imperfect, they'd never felt safer than when they reminded themselves of it. Jon had told Sansa almost everything. His adventures beyond the wall, how he travelled with the wildlings, how he fought with and against them. However he would not tell her of Ygritte – the wildling he fell in love with. He was unsure of her reaction and in truth, the memory of her was still upsetting for him to think about. When he told her of all the magic he'd encountered and how the Red Woman brought him back from the dead, Jon had expected to see shock from his sister. Yet all he received was silence and compassion.

Sansa had been unpredictable every night since her arrival. Things he thought would scare her only gave her confidence, and the fact he was an oath breaker did not hinder her kindness towards him. When she introduced herself to the wildlings and men of the Nightswatch, she'd done so with a mature gentleness that Jon had seldom seen in her when she was 13. Though she walked with the poise of a high-born girl, she spoke to everyone with warmth and courtesy. _She would have made a great queen,_ Jon thought. Though she'd told him little of her time with the Lannisters, and even less of her time with the Boltons. He knew that she'd been forced to marry Lord Tyrion barely a year after Father's execution. It did not surprise Jon that the Imp had treated her with dignity and condolence. However that and the fact that everyone in Kings Landing thought her a stupid girl was all Sansa had revealed to him about her experience there. She'd then told him of how Littlefinger had orchestrated an escape for her upon King Joffrey's death and how she'd dyed her hair black to conceal her true identity. It was there her stories would usually end. Jon struggled to imagine Sansa with dark hair. Her red hair was so bright; like flames in the snow. Her eyes were an icy blue, yet her eyes seemed duller now, and the face that held them was pale and sombre.

Sansa sipped at her ale trying to somehow enjoy the taste. She then looked to Jon. He had grown immensely in every aspect since their departure. Yet he still had the same sense of humour. It was comforting to know that her brother was not a completely different person. _Unlike me,_ her mind interrupted. She could feel Joffrey's torment and Ramsay's torture slowly surfacing, but she refused to let them rise.

"So did Mance Rayder let you ride a Mammoth?" her question made her cringe. It was something Sansa Stark would have said years ago, when she dreamed of fantastical adventures with gallant knights. However it made Jon laugh.

"No," he smiled, "Only the giants were able to ride them."

"It's amazing how much you've seen. I never realised how brave you are."  
"I was only as brave as I had to be," He said, his smile fading as he saw an opportunity. "I'm sure you understand that better than me. Being held hostage by Joffrey and the Lannisters."

"Me?" she exclaimed, "I wasn't brave. I only ever did as I was told." Sansa then drank and tried to think of a subtle way to change the subject. She did not want to tell Jon of her time as a hostage. Telling him meant remembering and she knew she would be reduced to tears in minutes. _He can not see me cry, he will think me weak._ She had mastered the ability of remaining strong and would not allow herself to feel any more pain. Suddenly she felt a hand on hers.

"Sansa," Jon's breath was hot and his tone was gentle. "You don't need to hide from me."

Sansa knew he was right. He was not her enemy. Still, she had spent every day since her father's beheading hiding her real thoughts and feelings. It felt almost wrong to be honest. Although the wall had no ears. Nobody would kill her for Cersei Lannister here. _Perhaps it is safe to tell him the truth..._

Then an uproar of commotion came from outside. Jon ran to the window while Sansa clasped her hands together, scared that Ramsay and his men had come for her.

"Fire." Jon stated. She joined him at the window. Brienne ran into the room to confirm the safety of her charge. Then Jon declared that he was going to deal with the blaze and that Sansa should remain in her chambers until the fire is out.

"Go with Jon," Sansa told Brienne, then looked to Jon, "The more help you have the easier it will be to put out the fire." The notion seemed to concern them both.

"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked, his dark brows furrowed.

"I'm safe here Jon, I have been since I arrived. Right now, you need Lady Brienne more than I do." With that, Jon vacated with a reluctant female fighter behind him.

Castle Black was a fairly simple structure for Sansa to figure out. She managed to locate her chambers within minutes. When she entered she locked the door and headed to her window to observe the calamity. The fire looked much smaller from her room. It must be blazing at the opposite end of the castle. She wondered what could have caused such a trouble. Her thoughts were shattered by her door creaking as a tall silhouette leaned against it.

"Jon?" Sansa couldn't think of anyone else who would be in her chambers. Perhaps he wanted to make sure she'd not gotten lost. Or maybe Theon had come? He often visited her when his mind was tormenting him. The man emerged from the shadows, a stranger. An _enemy._ The flayed figure upon his dark doublet told Sansa everything. A Bolton spy had snuck into Castle Black to deliver the threats of Roose and Ramsay Bolton. Yet he spoke not a word. Fear began to creep into her. Then two more men appeared before her. She could feel the fourth breathing at her back. She was surrounded and outnumbered. Still she stood firm.

"What do you want?" Sansa demanded. Her stance stronger than steel and her expression colder than Winter itself. The fourth man gave a dark chuckle before another replied.

"We want you, Lady Bolton," such words almost fractured her stony facade, but she'd been feigning fearlessness too long to be so easily broken. The men, clearly enjoying the challenge of frightening her, continued, "Your husband misses you dearly. He has commanded us to safely return you to him."

Those words were sharper than the first. For a moment they managed to pierce her skin and draw out droplets of unease. Yet this was a foolish group if they truly believed Ramsay could retrieve her so easily. She took the hand of a man who betrayed her family and leapt from the peak of a castle to escape him. She had ran through an endless forest and swam through a river wilder than a snow storm in order to be free. He'd ravaged her body every day since their wedding. Sansa Stark shall no longer endure such torture.

"Never." she spat.

"He told us you'd be difficult. As tame as a wolf, he told us. Nevertheless you will come."

"I will not. Not while my brother is here."

"Your bastard brother is at the other end of the castle, my Lady" one smirked. "You are alone." Suddenly the pieces connected simultaneously. These Bolton spies set up a fire at the other end of Castle Black to distract Jon from the real danger. He would be forced to extinguish the flames and all the other people in the castle would be too focused on the wounded to think of the Stark in solitude. She regretted her dismissal of Brienne. Then they closed in.

Before she could retaliate,a piece of cloth was pulled across her mouth. Sansa tried to tug at the gag, knowing the only possibility of a rescue would come from a scream, but the fourth man grasped her hands and tied them tightly behind her back. As he did this, she could feel something slithering around her ankles and forcing them to be locked together. The ropes were rough and scraped at her wrists as she desperately attempted to pull free. The struggling was enough to motivate one of the spies to grip her at the shoulders.

The Stark girl shook, helpless in her constraints. Two men stood at her sides while another one stroked her cheek as if to mock her defencelessness. _If Jon were here that hand would fall from your wrist. If Brienne were here you'd barely live to witness it._ Sansa longed to threaten them with these facts but knew the threat would become no more than a muffled noise through her gag. She noticed a hand looming towards her neck. In a moment of terror she thought it meant to strangle her. Yet it slipped from her neck to her hair. Then a small blade cut off a lock of auburn, which the hand placed inside a piece of parchment marked with a flayed man. The parchment was then laid neatly on Sansa's bed. Once that was done, the spies looked to her.

"Now, Lady Bolton," one rasped as he stood over her, "have you any objections to this?" His right arm hugged her waist. Sansa wanted to slap him. She wanted to break away from his grasp however a pair of hands from behind shoved her into his chest. The intimacy made her skin crawl and his grin brought fire to her cheeks. "No objections?" he whispered as he wrapped his left arm around the back of her thighs. "Good."

Sansa's feet left the ground and the room turned upside down. Her head was burning. Her body was frozen in ropes. The Bolton spies carried her from her chambers and slipped through the castle, silent as shadows. Every time they turned a corner Sansa prayed that Ghost would appear and tear them apart. The Gods ignored her pleas, like they did in King's Landing.

The open air pricked her face and she saw the fire blazing far away. It looked like a flame being attacked by ants. Sansa searched for the blue of Brienne's armour but the distance was too far and the night made armour dark. It seemed every man of the Nightswatch was fighting the fire as a spy's voice noted that the Gate was unguarded. Suddenly the arms holding her altered. The right one released as the left one tightened. Sansa could hear the men mumbling to each other, their voices scattering in the darkness. The voices turned to sounds of legs and leathers bending and twisting. In a final moment of anguish, she tried to squirm free and scream for saviour. The arm around her stiffened to remind her of her powerlessness.

Then, the captors dragged her over the edge of the castle wall. Sansa remembered how she jumped from the walls of Winterfell. _Of course Ramsay thought it would be fitting to have me returned by descending the walls of Castle Black._ She despised this indignity. If the rope aiding her captor's decline were to snap then she could die and truly be rid of the Boltons. Death was a better protector than Brienne and Podrick. It was a better hero than Jon. It was a stronger ally than Theon, Littlefinger and the entire Vale Army. Death would take Sansa to her Father, Mother, Robb and Lady. She dreamed of seeing them again. She thought of how Robb would hold her in his arms like the day they departed Winterfell. Lady and Greywind would chase one another among the clouds. She longed for her Father's sweet stories. She longed for her Mother to sit with her and tie her hair into beautiful Northern braids. _Only death can set me free._ However death also took Joffrey, Lord Tywin and her Aunt Lysa. Perhaps after death Joffrey would find her and strip her bare while Lysa ripped out her hair and Lord Tywin would trap her in a cage for all eternity. _There is danger even in death._

Finally Sansa and the spies found the ground. They ran with the girl across the terrain until they came across their four horses – one of which was attached to a cart. Sansa was gracelessly hoisted into the cart where she gazed into the starry abyss above. _Death is imminent but not the answer. I have to fight for what's mine and avenge House Stark._

They covered their captive in a sheet of wool and held it down with baskets full of bread and wheat. The spies set off into the night, looking like nothing more than a group of merchants. Little did these men know that their hostage would be plotting until dawn. If Sansa Stark was going back to the Boltons, winter was coming with her.


	2. Chapter 2: Rally The North

The Wall shimmered in the light of dawn. It had taken half the night to extinguish the fire. The men of the Night's Watch did their duties despite their exhaustion while Wun Wun and some wildlings set off to find some wood to rebuild the damaged area of the castle. The cause of the fire remained unknown. Some wildlings claimed it was the ghost of Mance Rayder reaping revenge for his execution. Most concluded it was a tragedy brewed by a fallen candle.

Jon had not seen Sansa since the fire. Afterwards, he had returned to his chamber and woken up still in his boots and leathers. The stench of smoke clung to him and pervaded the air. His hair was greasy with sweat caused by his efforts to find water for the flames. He wondered why the Lady Melisandre remained absent throughout, given that she was the one who seemed to know the most about handling fire. In truth the Red Woman was almost always resigned to her chambers. It was as if she had died with Stannis and walked through Castle Black as a ghost. _Ghost._ Once the fire had been dealt with, Ghost vanished. _To hunt,_ Jon guessed.

He considered going to see Sansa before he broke his fast. He wanted to make sure that the crisis hadn't upset her. Jon remembered how she looked when she rode through the gate. A tattered dress, messy hair and a face white with fatigue. At first he didn't believe that girl was Lady Sansa Stark. The Northern girl he'd grown up with would never have allowed herself to look so dishevelled. She also would have never hugged him as tightly as she did. Sansa embraced him that day is if he was the only person she had left in the world. Perhaps he was? She'd mentioned being held hostage in King's Landing. When he left Winterfell what felt a lifetime ago, that was where she, Arya and father were headed. Sansa seldom spoke of Arya. All she knew about her was that she escaped King's Landing after father's execution, and still lived. Jon longed to see his little sister again. He often wondered whether or not she still had that little sword she named needle. _Maybe needle helped her to flee and survive._ The notion brought a glimmer of hope to his troubled mind. Then he thought on how Sansa had had no weapon. A wolf in a cage, cornered by lions. Robb had raised an army to set her free but he failed. _He was betrayed,_ Jon corrected himself. He thought again of the little red-haired girl being alone in a city full of liars who hailed the Starks as traitors. There was so much he wanted to ask Sansa, but he never knew how to ask it. She was a locked door to the world...

He sat at a table with Edd and Tormund either side. Podrick and Theon sat opposite. The pair looked out of place this far North, and they barely even looked up from their food. Podrick seemed like a good lad with an unfailing loyalty to Lady Brienne. Theon however...

Theon was a new man. A broken one apparently. Jon had heard stories of how Theon betrayed Robb and killed Bran and Rickon to claim Winterfell for himself. Jon remembered wanting to kill him for a time. Yet when he arrived at the Wall he was hardly recognisable. His face only became clearer once Sansa stated his name. In truth, Jon wished Theon Greyjoy wasn't here. All love for him died the day he turned on Robb. Yet Sansa insisted he has paid for his crimes, and that Bran and Rickon are living. The only real reason he endured the kraken's presence was because he knew that Theon helped Sansa escape the Boltons. He was an idiot for throwing himself and her off the walls of Winterfell, but he did manage to keep her alive, and risked his life to protect her from Ramsay's bloodhounds. He has not redeemed himself but he has become bearable. Jon watched Theon's gloved hands quiver as they fiddled with a fork and knife; the knife in particular seemed to distress him. Jon knew that the Bolton's were famous for flaying men with knives, could it be that they flayed some of Theon Greyjoy?

Brienne flung the door open, frantic and enraged. Theon flinched and Podrick spilled his drink over the sleeve of his red tunic. Jon saw Ghost following close at her back. Anxiety twinged inside him.

"Where is Sansa?" asked Brienne, though her crisp voice made it sound closer to a command.

"Is she not in her chambers?" Jon answered, the twinge starting to spread through his veins.

"No. But this was." With that, the woman revealed a piece of parchment sealed with a pink cross. Now Jon felt fear.

All eyes were on the scroll. Podrick indicated the cross-shaped seal showed a flayed man; the Sigil of House Bolton. Everyone was mute as Jon snapped the seal and unrolled the paper.

"What does it say?" Theon asked, his voice weak and trembling. He already knew the answer.

A lock of hair falls onto the table. A lock of red hair. Tully hair. Jon doesn't want to believe it, but when he picks up the fragile hair he knows. He then begins to read the fatal words to the noiseless group:

"To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow,

Did you really think you could keep my wife from me?

Winterfell is mine bastard and so is she,

Come and see.

I would like to thank you, bastard

For making it so easy.

You put out that fire

So Lady Bolton could return to me.

My house will not tolerate wildlings in the North.

If you do not send them beyond the wall I will ride North

With an army you cannot fight

And slaughter every wildling man, woman and babe you protect.

Do not try to steal my wife from me, bastard.

If you, your wildlings or Reek come for her

I will take you all prisoner and you can watch

One another get skinned alive.

Come and see.

Sansa is mine, bastard.

She will birth my heirs.

When she does that you may have her hair,

My dogs will want the rest.

Come and see.

Ramsay Bolton

Son of Roose Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North"

Jon was gripping the hair so tight no that his knuckles had turned white. His skin was hotter than embers. "He started that fire to distract us." he snarled, "I practically _gave_ her to him!"

Brienne took a sip of water before taking hold of Oathkeeper.

"Podrick, ready the horses. We're leaving."

"What are you doing?" rasped Tormund.

"I am sworn to protect Sansa Stark. I have failed her and must atone. I will ride to Winterfell and rescue her."

"It won't be that easy." Theon said with tears in his eyes.

"My life and sword are hers. I will do it or die."

"You don't know him," Theon's tears swam through his stubble. "What he can do. He won't kill you. He'll torture you until death becomes a mercy."

Jon interrupted, " Is that what he did to you?" Theon was so tense he could barely nod in response.

"Yes. He cut me into pieces and called me Reek. He plays games with people. He locked Sansa in a room and he did what he liked with her. He tied me to a cross and did what he liked with me. Roose Bolton can't control him. No-one can."

"Then how do you suggest we help her?" asked Podrick.

"House Bolton has an army of 5000 men. You'd need an army bigger than that to reach her."

Jon turned to Tormund, "How many men do you have?" his tone reeked of desperation.

"That can fight?" the gruff Wildling replied, "About 2000. The rest are women, children and old people."

 _Not enough_ , was the answer he should have given.

Edd, seeing the despair and frustration in his friend, decided to speak.

"I don't think the men of the Nightswatch would be willing to fight a battle away from the wall. But we could send a group of 10 men to track down your sister and her kidnappers. It will take them a few days to get to Winterfell."

"Tell them who'd volunteer that they would have my deepest gratitude and greatest respect." At this, Edd's eyes darkened.

"No." he answered, shaking his head. "It's the least those men can do to earn your forgiveness." Then he rose and withdrew to summon a rescue party.

Jon had never seen Edd look so grim. Once he would have made a sarcastic remark on the worth of Jon Snow's 'gratitude', but those days are gone. _The wall makes men of us all,_ he mused.

Brienne then took the seat next to Jon Snow and leaned in, ensuring eye contact.

"Your family still has friends in the North. They will never forget those who betrayed House Stark. You must ride to the other Northern houses and call the banners."

"But the other Northern houses are small," Podrick reminded her, "And there's no guarantee that they will join us." Brienne looked at him with eyes sharper than her sword.

"House Stark has held the North for thousands of years. Lady Sansa is a Stark. Winterfell is also hers by right if her brothers do not claim it. If the North is as loyal as it declares itself, then it will rise in it's entirety to fight for her. The Lannisters kept her alive for a reason. The Boltons keep her alive for that same reason."

"Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. Lady Mormont wrote that when Stannis was looking for alliances." answered Jon with the slightest smile. The words also steadied Theon Greyjoy's trembling. Brienne stood tall and strong, like the mast of a ship.

"We will get her back."


	3. Chapter 3: Dead Crows

Sansa felt like she'd been trapped within this cart for an eternity. The rough sheet of wool created a dark abyss that felt like an endless night. She wondered if she would ever see dawn. Her cheeks were irritated by the prickly wool. Her throat was sore and dry, and the combination of the gag and sheet made breathing an arduous task. Her body was numb from lack of movement and she had no concept of the present hour. Yet she was not entirely impotent. Her four kidnappers likely thought that hiding her under grain and cloth would render her helpless and terrified. On the contrary, they had just placed a snake in the grass and it was now waiting for it's chance to strike. _They've blocked my voice, but not my ears._ From the moment the cart moved, Sansa had been listening to every sound and word that passed through her captors conversations. She had learned all of their names. Bryce, Asher, Galien and Morin. The four fools as far as she was concerned. As soon as she was able to see, Sansa planned to memorise their faces. She would ensure they received more than just gold for their actions…

For what felt like hours, the topic of their conversations had been dull and useless. All they'd speak of was women they'd slept with and people they'd been able to kill in battle. Then finally Asher had sparked an interesting topic.

"How much will Lord Bolton give us, you think? For doing this?"

"He never said," answered Bryce, "All he said was, 'bring back my wife and you'll be richer than lords'."

A clear lie to Sansa. Ramsay would never willingly make any man superior to him in any respect.

"Well he'd better stick to his word," spoke Galien; easily the most arrogant of the four. "Otherwise I'll be keeping his pretty wife for meself."

"He'll flay you alive for even trying you prick."

Ever since her father's death, Sansa had received stupid lust-filled comments from both nobles and commoners alike. Words like this did nothing to her now. Then they discussed how Ramsay was infuriated by the death of the Kennel Master's daughter. They helpfully added that he'd been telling everyone that Sansa had murdered Myranda in a fit of madness and jealousy. Not even the songs young Sansa had learned at 13 contained such a fantastical and laughable concept. Then they brought up Theon, but referred to him only as Reek.

"He told me he wants to get his servant back. He wants me to help. He wants to rip his skin off his bones and have all the Lords of the North watch. Says it's going to show them the price of betraying the Boltons."

"Sounds like you're that bastard's new best friend."

"I'd rather be that than his enemy."

The cart slammed to a halt. All fell silent. Sansa could tell that something was wrong. Perhaps for her that meant something was right.

"Who goes there!?" she heard Bryce call. The horses started to shift uneasily.

"The Nights Watch." A voice declared.

"Fucking crows." hissed Asher.

"We are searching for a noble girl with red hair. The Lady Sansa Stark. The sister of our Lord Commander, Jon Snow."

Could it be that the Gods have finally heeded her prayers? Jon was coming for her. She could be saved!

Then Morin spoke to them with his unnervingly soft voice.

"I beg your pardon Sers, but I believe Lady Stark is now Lady Bolton. I would imagine you would find her at Winterfell with her Lord Husband."

The crow's voice was too quick to surrender, "So you have seen no girl with red hair on your travels?"

"Sadly not. If we had, I certainly would have remembered it."

It sounded as though the men of the Nights Watch were starting to retreat. _Idiots,_ Sansa wanted to cry, _I am here. I am right here under your noses!_ Then it came to her. A newfound physical strength. Despite her bonds and the bags of grain pinning her down, Sansa Stark slammed her heels against the wood of the cart. This created a loud thumping sound and she could hear horses turning around. Only seconds later, did a gloved hand pull away the wool and reveal the Northern girl. The sudden flash of daylight made her weary eyes squint. The two men of the Night's Watch gazed at her in shock. They saw her messy red hair. Her white face with a coarse fabric wrapped around her mouth. The rope was clearly too tightly tied around her limbs. The shock melted into subtle fury. As one of the crows gently pulled her to sit upright, the other warned that Jon Snow would see those four men hanged for this. It was then that the blade pierced his heart. He dropped to the ground, dead with blood spilling out of his chest. Sansa instinctively tried to protest, but her gag muted the cries. Then the man holding her jumped back. She could tell he'd seldom engaged in combat. His stance was shaky and he clumsily drew his blade. One bolton spy laughed in his face, while another approached him from behind and stabbed him in the back. A third stole his sword and plunged it into his stomach. When the blade was withdrawn, some of the blood spattered across Sansa's frozen cheeks. The poor boy collapsed onto the corpse of his friend. Sansa closed her eyes in despair. When she opened them, she was met with the face of one of the spies.

"You stupid bitch!" he growled, and struck her across the face, causing her to fall to the ground beside the dead men. The face matched the voice of Asher. He was an ugly blonde man. Another addition to the list of horrible men Sansa had encountered throughout her life. She stared at the corpses beside her. She felt responsible for their deaths. They only confronted these men because they wanted to help her. Two men who she assumed were Bryce and Galien proceeded to lift the lifeless bodies onto their frightened steeds who in all haste galloped back towards Castle Black. She was alone again.

"Lord Bolton will no doubt punish you for this," continued Asher as he paced towards the forgotten sword. "But why should we wait for him?" With that, the man smirked and raised the blade. For a moment, Sansa thought he intended to behead her. Her father's face flashed into her mind and vanished just as quickly. Asher swung the flat side of the weapon against her ribs. She could hear a crack which was followed by a surge of agony. Even Meryn Trant hadn't hit her as hard as that. The girl screamed through her gag and Morin yanked the blade out of his accomplices enormous hand.

"Have you gone mad?! Lord Bolton said he wanted her untouched you fucking cunt!"

Without replying, Asher picked his hostage up like a sack of wheat and threw her back into the cart. The other three glared at him. They were smart enough to understand the consequences of disobeying Ramsay. Sansa could see that the man was about to climb onto the cart and then onto her. Suddenly her grey dress turned silky and pink. Asher had a new face; the dirty face of a King's Landing commoner. Yet he changed back when one of the men yanked him off of the cart and onto the floor. Morin spoke as Galien aimed his blade at Asher's face.

"If you do anything to her, you'll be going back to Winterfell to get buried."

The sheet of wool was concealing their hostage once again, and the horses resumed their trotting. Sansa thought about the poor men of the Nights Watch. They couldn't save her. At this rate, nobody could. Before long she'd be locked in that tower in Winterfell once again. _There's no justice in the world. Not unless we make it._ Petyr Baelish told her that at Moat Calin what felt like a thousand years a ago. Sansa thought about how little finger cupped her face that day and revealed to her that he was marrying her off to the Boltons. He sold her to monsters yet claimed to love her. _He doesn't love me. Littlefinger loves no one but Littlefinger._ Sansa wondered if Lord Baelish knew how much his favourite pawn now resented him. _I am not a pawn,_ she reminded herself, _not anymore._ If she had to return to Ramsay and be his wife, it would not be for long. Winterfell was her home. The home of House Stark. As the only Stark in Winterfell, it would be her responsibility to create justice for her family and outmanoeuvre House Bolton. She had to use every single thing she'd learned from the Red Keep to the Eyrie. The first time Sansa Stark returned to Winterfell, she did not know the enemy. This time she did. She knew their wants, their desires, and their weaknesses. Last time she was a piece in their games, but this time they would receive a player. A player who would form new rules and tactics. A player who would end the game, victorious.

Their blades will never cut through wolfskin.


End file.
